When the World Comes Down: A South Park Tale
by sok-munki
Summary: A story of adolescence only more interesting, cause it's South Park. The dramas of love, school, cliques, bets, drugs, comings of age, and tornadoes. Minor Stan/Kyle, with more pairings if requested&agreed. OCs. Rated T for language. R&R is good. UPDATED.
1. Stanley Marsh, indeed

A/N: Okay, this is my first story, so ride me all you want, but I will bite back if provoked. I have three more chapters already typed for this, but depending on what people say, we'll see where this goes. ED-IT-TED.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park - if I did it wouldn't be as awesome. I do not own the title - The All-American Rejects are the ones who made that gorgeous song. The quote at the beginning is mine though - my friends and I wondered if a guy we knew was wearing Levi jeans because every guy seems to wear those things, haha. Levi's belong to Levi Strauss and his descendants.

* * *

_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter One

_"What brand are your jeans? Are they Levi's?"—"They're Jeans Brand."_

It was an early come Thursday; the curtains were half shut, allowing just enough light and cold air in to throw off sleep patterns. That was not what arose our fifteen-year-old raven, however. No, Stan Marsh rolled over in his bed to face the loud, brash sound of his presumed worst nightmare…

"_**Wake up**_, you stupid turd." Older sister, Shelley was not the most patient of people. She was more of a grumpy gorilla. "Mom and dad need you to get up and make breakfast! It's their anniversary and they _**refuse**_ to get out of bed and do it themselves!" She said, as if that justified obnoxiously parading through his room, picking up random clutter and rearranging it in a senseless manner. While her words sounded harsh, Stan could tell that there was no bite in her voice. He knew her fire when he heard it.

Tired of watching her, and alarmed when she started to lift his school bag and peer into it, Stan flew from his bed just in time to stop the startled sister from dropping the bag. "Shelley! I have something very important in here!" Yanking it away with a hiss, he stuck out his tongue and continued, "Why can't _**you**_ cook breakfast? It isn't like you don't know how. You're twenty, for Pete's sake!" He stared down at the bag, clearly finding it more important than their current conversation. For a moment he forgot that they were talking, as he became fully engrossed with the thought that Kyle would absolutely love getting a back-to-school present – especially since they hadn't premeditated an act to do so.

Shelly rolled her eyes as he tenderly set the bag on the end of his chaotic bed and then answered his oh so silly question, "Well, _**dearest**_ brother of mine, if I am _**visiting**_ from college, I shouldn't be doing any hard labor… Plus mom told me you got stuck with that loony Home Ec teacher who loves talking about king sized beds, so you should know how to cook!" She smiled, a habit Shelley has grown quite fond of since she ditched her headset.

Standing up from digging in his bottom drawer for a pair of Levi's, Stan countered with, "How can I when she's loony?" Crossing the room to his closet, he opened the door and added one final nonchalant toss at his sister, "Let me take a shower first. Real quick this time, I promise… 'Kay??" He turned around to check for a nonverbal answer and saw Shelley making faces in the mirror – they reminded him of that old thing his band teacher had said to him in middle school: _make a kissy face and say 'do' then make a forced smile and say 'ee'. _It really had made his mouth more relaxed.

Shelley looked up from the mirror to glare at him with a face that made Stan think of a thirteen year old caught stuffing her bra. "What are you staring at?"

If Stan had given an honest reply he would probably just be digging himself a hole – '_girls are mysterious creatures'_ he reminded himself out of habit from dealing with his good friend, Wendy. For as he watched his sister, Stan Marsh had realized that while they had been arguing, she was no longer a raging tyrant bent on destroying him. The girl in front of him was his sister. '_Funny, maybe she's seeing someone.'_

Having finalized this hypothesis, he flicked the shaggy emo flip out of his face and yanked out a shirt that was washed one too many times for proper readability; a shirt that he kept simply because it was the only thing Kyle could afford to get him for their 'Winter Break Gift Exchange' – religion was strictly forbidden from this matter. He grabbed Shelley's arm, stared into her eyes, and said with great sincerity, "Shelley. You are too lazy for words. Get out of my room you cow." With that, he walked towards the bathroom and flicked on all the lights – so what if he wasted electricity, he needed to wash properly.

Shelley, always strong, just laughed at her totally gay sounding brother. "Whatever, you weirdo," she said as she exited the room to make brekkie because she knew his shower would go longer than he promised. All she had to do was burn Stan's share.

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Sok~Munki: Okay, so that's my story so far.

That thing about band is totally true. My current teacher has told us to do that - although he didn't exactly say those words, but it was just easier to describe than just, "say 'do-ee'."

The Winter Break Gift Exchange of theirs is titled as such because of how students are no longer allowed to say, "Christmas Break". To keep from discriminating against religions, they're getting rid of the subject all together, go figure. Only, I imagine that Stan and Kyle call it that because it's easier than, "Chanukah-Christmas Break, No Fat Ass, Chanukah Goes in Front of Christmas Because It's Alphabetical That Way, Dude, No, We are Not Dropping the 'C' for Something You Won't Even Participate In! Why Won't You? Because You'll Probably Give Kyle Typhoid Fever or Something! Kenny's Poor He Can't Do It! No Just Having Two People Do It Doesn't Make It Gay!"

It would be a life of complications.


	2. Kyle Broflovski, for the win

A/N: Okay, so in hopes of attracting more people to this story, I have posted the next chapter. They are short, but that's because these are more of introductory pages. I might have a couple of these if I'm going to focus on that person for a while in the plot. I really, really, truly encourage you to review this. For shiz.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, seeing as how that's pretty extreme for someone who's only in high school. I do not own the book _Pretty Things_ - which is where the quote at the beginning is from - Sarra Manning Does. Sadly, I don't own Converse... It would be pretty awesome if I did though. I don't own DC either. Yes, yes, Georgie is from Stephen King's IT. He was Big Bill's younger brother - the first to be killed that feeding session. I love that book. Which, coming after that sentence makes me seem like a total sicko, but Que Será, Será.

* * *

_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter Two

_"Now, sweetie, no need to be alarmed, nothing to worry about, but that would be my penis."_

Approximately ten minutes and fifty-three seconds after the sweet Marsh sibling tête-à-tête, the second of our ever-favorite quartet was finishing his healthy helping of scrambled eggs. Kyle Broflovski's mind was elsewhere though, as he pissed about how many teachers would misspell his name this year…

As the ginger stood up from the crowded kitchen table – cluttered with plates of eggs, waffles, pancakes, hash browns, orange juice, turkey slices, coffee, and several pages of the daily paper – the sophomore looked over at his adopted brother, Ike, who was busy prattling away excitedly about how he was going to ask Mrs. Garrison to set him a desk next to his latest friend, Georgie. This left Kyle to wonder what kind of a person Georgie was and why anyone would want to still be called Georgie when in the fifth grade.

The Jew chuckled the whole way up the stairs at the thought that it might be the Georgie from that one geeky horror about the clown that ate children. He barely paused mid ascent as he had a dull, been-said-a-million-times thought, '_In South Park __**anything**__ can happen.'_

When he reached his room, he checked his watch to see if he would have time for a few pages of _Pretty Things_ before he headed out to wait at the bus stop. Unfortunately he only had about ten minutes – far too short a time for him to really get into the soap lathered plot that filled the pages of the girly book – so he grabbed his messenger bag and shoved open his closet to find his favorite pair of Chuck's. While doing so, he happened to glance at the dusty shoebox near the back of the medium sized invert and scoffed at the thought of the pair of DC's laying inside gathering dust and a rank smell. For Kyle Broflovski has an innate hatred for thick, fat, skate shoes. He thought his mother knew him well enough to know that.

After sitting there for about two thirds of his ten minutes, mentally tearing up the shoes and burning them, Kyle was rushing out of his room growling about the misplacement of his beloved Converse. He had to settle for the high tops that Stan had gotten him back when he absolutely loved that breed of Converse shoe. Now he found them to be completely annoying – what with trying to get them on and trying to get them off without spending a half hour of his OCD-run time lacing them exactly right. All the same, it still made him smile at the thought of his feet saying 'explicit content' like he was some sort of really awesome R rated movie – the kind with lots of sex and violence.

"Kyle, my _bachor_! Why are you going so quickly? You're leaving without saying goodbye! Did your friends tell you that you're _**uncool**_ for adoring your mother? They tell you that you shouldn't kiss your dear sweet mother? I don't want you hanging with those _**boys**_ anymore, you hear me?" The infamous Sheila Broflovski has struck again.

Kyle looked down at his mother who he had outgrown – both in height and patience – and said, "Mom, I _**do**_ love you, but my friends have had no terrible influence on me. I do it to myself." His voice sounded stern, but he smiled sweetly at the stout, dramatic woman. Finding that substantial enough, the crafty teen adjusted his glasses, kissed her on the cheek, and stepped passed her and down the stairs.

Upon reaching the door, he shrieked as he saw Ike walking out in _**his**_ shoes. Kyle was about the tackle the boy when Ike gave him a wink and shot out the door to get a head start towards the bus stop. '_That's okay,' _Kyle thought, '_with all my training in track, I can catch up with and beat the crap out of him, yes yes.' _With that he dashed out the front door, wondering how a boy six years younger than him could possibly be comfortable in size ten shoes.

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Sok~Munki: Okay, so I like this chapter for many little reasons - like the whole R rated movie thing. Call me vain, but I love my writing - most of it.

Please, for the love of all that makes this world go round, review this if you were so kind as to read it.

Oh yes, I know that Sheila doesn't normally call her son 'bachor' but I wasn't sure how to spell what she normally calls him. It sounds like bubela, but I doubt that's how to spell it.

Kyle with glasses = hawt.


	3. Kenny McCormick, in ur pants

A/N: Okay, so, right now I have like two adoring friends reading this thing, so this is all for them so far... Want it to be for you too? Make me aware you are reading this - _please_ review.

Disclaimer: South Park is not mine, so stop hounding me! No, just joking, you. Everyone knows Matt and Trey did it - Matt Stone, not Matt Groening. Animals, as stated in the chapter, is owned by Nickelback. The quote is a line from the song that cracks up my friends. I, on the other hand, like the song because of it's story. Besides, the part where she's screaming, "Oh, God, that's my dad outside the car!" is much funnier. Motorola is... Motorola. Pop Tarts are owned by Pillsbury. His boots are T-U-K. Tits are owned by girls.

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_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter Three

_"And you control how fast we go by just how hard you squeeze!"_

Another three minutes later, at the run down side of town, a cell phone was busy blaring "Animals" by Nickelback. From beneath a giant flop of brown bed sheets a corner was raised just enough for Kenny McCormick's boney wrist and spidery hand to shoot out and snatch the beastly device beneath the covers…

"What do you _**want**__!!_" snapped the blond with an 'it's too early' underline framing his voice like barbed wire. He rolled around so his face was in the pillow as he waited impatiently for the still silent creature to elaborate their unnecessary contact. '_This had better be a hot chick,_' he decided.

"Kenny? Dude, are you coming to school? It's incredibly boring standing here alone."

'_Kyle. Damn.'_ There was a flustered string of apologies and irritated cuss words heard coming from the purple Motorola. "Phit! 'Id Ah shih hat ouhlouh?" The poverty-stricken boy asked. The pillow muffled his words, go figure. "Ah whss hnkhn abouh tihhs!" He knew it was probably too early to be vulgar, but he would have sworn by that a million times before implying that he didn't want to hang out with Kyle – not many people were jumping to be his friend.

"Kenny, I know most of what you are saying, but it's been ages since you wore your hood up. _**Please**_ take it off to talk… Did you say tits?" He laughed at the last part, in contrast to his very tired tone at the beginning. Blushing, Kenny shot his head up from the pillow – quite gladly since it was getting hard to breath.

"Sorry dude, and that wasn't my beloved hood, that was my pillow… Yeah, tits, why? Are you still afraid of them, my dear inexperienced homo?" Letting out a chuckle, Kenny rolled off the bed and onto the floor – literally. He slowly made his way over to the closet where his few shirts and bottoms were laying in a sloppy pile on the floor, tattered jacket the only thing hanging.

"Wha-? You butt-munch! I am _**not**_ a fairy! I'm as straight as a pin! I do nothing to even—wait. What do you _**mean**_ your pillow?! You should be up and moving, you lazy piece of poop! You have five minutes to get here-" an exaggeration "-before the bus arrives and that Hispanic man yells that you're SOL in Spanish! Stan's probably still washing his skinny little butt and he won't pick up his cell so I can yell at him! Get over here!!"

Kenny smiled with a small shrug but then realized that Kyle could not hear the gesture and verbalized the action, "Yeah, whatever, I'm as good as there, dude." With that, the mop-top flipped his cell closed and yanked on his anorak. He stood up, and attempted to open his door… Only to find it stuck. He rattled the door for a good thirty seconds before he finally glared at the blasted cheap wood and raised his T-U-K Black Action Leather boot and smashed it into the door. He stared at the damage and pointedly decided that he would leave it there – as if finally deciding on whether to have the turkey sub or the tomato soup. He was in a pissy mood from being woken up and it would have just fallen down sooner or later.

Calling out to whoever was home and sober enough to process the information that he was leaving for school, Kenny grabbed a Pop Tart left from the previous night's dinner and attacked it via mouth. He stomped through the run down house to get to the front door – which was in about the same shape as his bedroom door – and sloshed through the snow towards the bent up sign that he could just barely see; a green little head elevated by an orange torso with black and green limbs stood next to it. The slacker gave a cheeky smile, '_That OCD pretty boy, always being punctual.'_

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Sok~Munki: I enjoy how he just kicks the door down. It's definitely something he would do. The pillow was just ironic. You should check out my DeviantART account. I'm getting that in motion as well - six pictures on there, what? I'm the type of person who needs encouragement to continue writing or drawing something. Seriously. My friend, asked for a picture for Christmas. They had to twist my arm behind my back for me to work on it.

Thank you to AIISA,D and Silvertails for the chapter title idea!

Procrastination - I would have been the one to invent it, but I became too lazy.

99 Lives by The Pettit Project (now called Love you To Death) is a kick ass song. You should get hooked on it. Kenny did. He danced. He sang. But he'll forever be a cookie whore, haha!


	4. Eric Cartman, thigh blaster

A/N: I'm really starting to have fun with this. I started this story like, sometime after Christmas. This chapter, having being finished for about a month, always gets me chuckling.

Disclaimer: South Park equals Matt Stone & Trey Parker property. They are like... Gods are something. PS3's are property of Sony, Xbox 360's are owned by Microsoft (kicking Sony and Nintendo's butts, btw). Jesus is totally boss and is owned by no one but himself. Combs are like ancient, so who can say who made them, but it wasn't me. The ring I was thinking of was found on HotTopic, but it would appear that it is no longer available on there... Or what have you. You should totally buy the mustache ring though - that thing is tight. The shirt was also found on HotTopic - one might think that I am a HotTopic junkie, but I'm really not. The boots are Doc Martens - nice boots, really expensive.

The quote is from Garfield, because he is the best cat aside from Hannibal the Spider-Cat (my cat, haha).

Buffalo wings are an act of God. Le yum.

* * *

_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter Four

_"I'm in shape! Round is a shape!"_

As Kenny took his fourth step towards Sophomore Hell, our fourth and final member was busy examining himself in his he-she mom's full-length mirror. Standing at a total of five feet, six inches, Eric Cartman examined his noticeably smaller stomach…

After being ridiculed for his unhealthy weight, the callous teen, referred to as both Cartman and fat-ass, had finally made a bet with Kyle over his size. If he could shave off twenty pounds and stay at a constant weight of, at most, 170 pounds, then Kyle would have to hand over his PS3, Xbox 360, and admit to being the lousy Jew-Fart-Butt-Face who killed Jesus.

With years of denial, insults, and the thought of Kyle uttering those words as sway, Cartman had proudly gone down from 198 pounds to his current weight of 176 pounds. The deadline for the bet was the end of the week – the time was chosen by Kyle so he could watch Eric frantically freak out for the first week of school, hopefully acting like a girl a week before prom – and Cartman needed to lose _**six more pounds**_ – then keep it all off.

Sick of staring at his unfinished goal, the brunette stalked back towards his room with a comb in hand. He walked over to his dresser and stared at his 'pimp rings', all the while running the comb through his hair. Finally, after much deliberation, deciding on the spinner with the crosses on it, Cartman slipped the silver band onto his pudgy right ring finger. '_Very Christian, put Kahl in his place,' _He thought, as if that would keep Kyle from making fat jokes. An arrogant thought he knew, but it was always nice to hope that he would be cut some slack.

"Hon? Would you like a ride to the bus stop? There are only a few minutes before the bus arrives, and I have to get to work anyways, sweetie." Leanne, still a strong going whore of South Park who thought the world of her awkward son, asked through her maple coated voice from the bottom of the stairs. She was busy trying to put on earrings while juggling a plate of low calorie breakfast – she was quite enjoying this party diet.

"Ah am so screwed…" Cartman moaned as he pinched his tum-tum for the millionth time that morning. He pushed down his '_better to be a smartass then a dumbass' _shirt and fiddled with it, trying to hide what he thought was his completely obvious extra six pounds. Diets bring out the feminine side of everyone. "Ahm commin' myahm!" With that he grabbed his backpack and slumped down the stairs, huffing about stupid Jew-metabolism.

"Sweetie, even if you're trying to lose weight, you've got to eat. Although healthy dieting is a rough, slow, heart-breaking life choice, it's much healthier than anorexia. If you don't eat breakfast, your metabolism goes down and causes you to gain even more weight." It was perhaps one of the most motherly things she had ever said. Or maybe she was just having fun Googling more illnesses. Either way, she held the plate forward in a loving gesture, half expecting Eric to turn her down out of fear.

Cartman ate two ants-on-a-log, half of a bagel with cottage cheese, and downed one fruit smoothie. Leanne looked pleased enough.

Fiddling with the 'righteous' ring, he shoved his feet in his broken in tan Arlen 8 Eye Chukka Doc Martens, deciding that he would have just an apple for lunch and prayed that they wouldn't be serving buffalo wings.

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Sok~Munki: Now I want buffalo wings. Charlie is so, Charlie is so, Charlie is so cool. (like!)

In regards to the weight loss deal, I'm hoping that that's a pretty successful trip, considering he started about a third into the summer. I'm not sure about how the male body works when dealing with weight loss, but I tried to be as accurate as possible - taking into account his height, age, likely eating habits, likely exercising habits, stress level, and my Grandpa and dad's insight - but if you see flaws let me know, please.

I noticed that a lot of my talk at the top had to do with religion-type things... I blame Cartman's religion-complex. I tried to keep Cartman as jerk-like as he is originally, but I also don't want him to be a total antagonist. Let me know what you think of this and previous chapters. For all you psychics, you can tell me what you think of the chapters yet to come.


	5. Le Bus Stop

A/N: Okay, so I have had a long talk with both AIISA,D and my dad about how I can't type a whole lot. I'm typing there in word - typing, typing typing. When I'm done with a chapter, I'll go, "Holy, Eff! This is a whole three pages!" Then when I put it on FanFiction, I'll see that it's not that long. I can't help but do it. I always think that I put too much into it without having a point... I am still training myself, so bear with me.

Disclaimer: South Park is in fact owned by Matt and Trey. Gorgeous men. The quote is something that just popped in my head. It sets the mood, haha. Parliaments and Basic are marketed by the Philip Morris tobacco company. Lindsay Lohan is... Lindsay Lohan. iPods belong to Apple Inc.

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_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter Five

"The wheels may go round, but your face keeps my feet on the ground."

The bus soon chug-a-lugged down the road, headed towards three boys who were busy being boys. Kyle was punching Eric in the arm for a discriminatory comment while Kenny took a drag of his Basic – he loved Parliaments before the money started adding up and Lindsay Lohan became a washed-up bitch…

"Whatevah, fag! You're just jealous because Ah can _**persevere**_! Ah can see the fear in your eyes and the piss stains on your pants, you little _**chicken**_!" Cartman raved, while he used frantic arm gestures, now quite confident with his smaller size – or rather not showing feeling for fear of being called gay. While still being a bigot, Eric was not entirely inhumane. He had his own share of fears and troubles.

Kyle grabbed the brunette's ear and yanked, putting his mouth up to the now red sensory, "Get a clue, _**artard**_, you aren't _**going**_ to drop six pounds in five days – you would have to lose a pound a day, still with one left over, and at the rate you've been going, you've reached the point in the dieting process where your body gets used to the new eating habits and _**slows down**_ the weight-loss!" Letting go, the short tempered, track prodigy walked to the other side of Kenny, praying that the slowly growing yellow bus would pull up faster and that Stan would show up and hit Cartman.

"In English, _**you're screwed**_, dude. Kyle is going to win your lap top _**and**_ iPod; you're gonna have to admit that you'll always be a fat ass who's _**jealous of Jews**_ and their gold neck-bags!" Kenny laughed, hoping that what he said would set off into a Cartman Rant that he could easily block out. That was easier than Cartman when he was social.

Cartman gasped, acting like he would reply with his normal poverty rag, but then he just stopped and looked away, twitching slightly. "Whatevah, you gahs," was his weak follow up meant to end the loosely defined conversation.

At this point, the bus had arrived letting out a big puff of exhaust, perfectly in sync with Kenny's final drag before he flicked the butt to the ground and mashed it much like he had his door. Kyle was last to get aboard, as he stood staring off in the direction of Stan's house, wondering where the sonnova bitch was.

Over the years, Stan and Kyle had stayed best friends… pardon, _**super**_ best friends. The two weren't entirely glued at the hip, but Stan Marsh was still the sanest person in South Park to Kyle. Breasts did not distract him. He was not a discriminating person. He was a keeper of the peace who would put his friends in order when prompted. He was the type of person who would help anyone in a heartbeat. So, God dang it, the kid should be right behind his best friend, ready and willing to defend the Jew.

As if by cue, Stan came gallivanting over the hill waving his arms frantically at the Hispanic man who was going into drive. "Don't leave without me, you beaner! I _**need**_ to go to school! _**HEY**_!!"

The red head looked up and smiled as he held the door open with his foot, extending a hand for the Jock/Goth hybrid whom was now tripping over his feet to try and lunge for the bus that was slowly pulling to a start. When their hands finally connected, Kyle yanked as hard as he could to get the boy through the door that was attempting to break his foot. Had the driver any heart?

As they fell to the floor of the bus, Eric bleated, as if deeply hurt, "Why do fags have to do everything so dramatically?!"

And because Stan is Stan, he stood up and smacked Cartman upside the head.

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Sok~Munki: This chapter is cute in a down to earth kind of way. It's all, "Oh my gosh, romance in a cheesy way!" then Cartman brings it all back to reality. Which, is being done everywhere, so that's becoming the cheesy part in a way, but oh well. No harm meant in the beaner comment, but in South Park they kind of say racy things without being racist. Stan's too cool to be racist, haha. That thing about the weight loss I believe is accurate, but again, if you know more, let me know, 'kay?

I see Kenny LOVING Parliament cigs. till he learns that Lindsay Lohan loves them... Nothing against Lindsay, but Kenny doesn't seem like he would like her. Plus, Basics are like really cheap compared to other brands, and we mustn't forget Kenny's poor status. Bless his heart.

Man vs. Wild. Watch it. Bear Grylls is boss. He does push ups butt naked on a Patagonian glacier.


	6. The kids on the bus go, Wah Wah Wah

A/N: For those of you who are sweet enough to still stick with this story (and actually read the Author's Note), I thank you. A BUNCH.

Disclaimer: South Park meet Trey Parker; Trey Parker, South Park. South Park, Matt Stone; Matt Stone, South Park. The quote is from a journal entry they had us do one day in Literature, "If you found out your best friend was gay/lesbian, how would that effect your friendship?" That's what I wrote. I love gays. I love lesbians. I love love. Other than that, there aren't any references in here, I don't believe.

* * *

_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter Six

_"As long as they keep who and what they do in their bed to themselves, I'm cool."_

Walking into the bus you would see thirty-two students from all sorts of cliques, grades ranging from fifth to twelfth grade, interacting in loud shouts and hushed whispers. Typical teens…

"Ike! I was wondering where you went! How did you get on here before us?" Kyle, over-protective brother, interrogated as he sat down and scooted over towards the window a seat behind the Canadian. Setting his bag down, he looked up to see Stan sitting down next to him, hiding his bag deep within his lap. '_Is he trying to sneak Sparky into school again?' _the young Jew pondered as he turned back to face Ike, light curls bouncing from beneath the edge of his worn ushanka.

Ike turned around to hear him better and to show that he was listening; the boy next to him just continued to look out the hole he had made through the frost on the window. With a glance at Stan's bag-complex, Ike piped up, "After you struggled those wretched shoes off of me – without even leaving me your high tops, _**thank**_ you very much – I was found by Georgie. He was walking to his stop with his friends and they asked if I wanted to come and then one of them called me a… What did your tall friend say to me, George?" He asked as he looked down at the dark head now deemed Georgie.

The boy looked away from the window and up towards Ike, just barely visible to Kyle – who then sat forward – and said, "'You poor, blinded conformist. Did that Justin-Wannabe kick you out like a $300 whore after a night of dry humping?'" He then looked back out the window as if that hadn't sounded completely like offset, shock-humor.

Kyle stared at the boy for a long while with a comical, unhinged mouth. Then Stan looked up and said, "Dude! Georgie?! As in Georgie, Georgie?? What's up kid, you know Ike?" He shot forward – still careful of the bag – and lifted the fifth grader's head up to look at his face.

George's face, a round cream colored one, was decorated with heavy black liner, purple lipstick, and a poorly cut 'flip'. He was the spitting image of the kindergartner that Stan had once associated with during his Goth phase.

"Holy Leper eating a taco! I haven't seen you since Wendy broke up with me in the sixth grade! How goes the pain, man?" Stan was now quite engaged into this conversation, his smile at it's brightest when he was around people who had respect for themselves and others. And when he was around Kyle, it was even brighter.

"God, you are such a conformist, Raven," Georgie had a dull tone, but his face held an awkward sideways smirk and his eyes twinkled with hidden mirth.

"What? No I'm not, dude!"

"You're as conformist as they get, Jockey Boy - your perfect girlfriend, your great football gig, and your loving parents. You have no idea how mislead you are. You should have stuck to the coffee, not your Justin/Brittney Wannabe orange juice." The tall, big nosed, senior droned on from his standing position in the isle in front Stan. He pulled back his jacket and put his hand through his belt loop.

Leaning over, the new company handed 'Raven' a small note. "That's from that one girl back there," a point towards Wendy who was three seats back on the opposite side, "I wouldn't normally have done it, but she said that since she had broken up with you, we were probably hanging again. She wouldn't shut up."

Stan looked up at the Goth with a questioning expression, he knew very well that Wendy would not think that – they had been tight friends ever since eighth grade when they finally got over each others silly little tushes. He was about to say something, but then he saw something akin to warding in the upperclassman's eyes. "Okay…" was all he managed instead.

"He's hoping you two will break off whatever it is you have now, you know," Georgie said. He had sat back down and was now scratching something down in a thick black bound book with a small quill pen.

By this time Kenny had become engrossed with the interactions and could no longer hold in his opinion on the riddling subject, "Dude, he's gay for you." A pale hand shot down and tussled the now blushing Stan's head. "To-tally gay."

"That is such bull, Kenny. That Goth kid wouldn't be gay!" Kyle snapped at the blond behind them.

"Oh please, he so is! They're all 'non-conformist' up our asses, right? Well, how conformist is it to be gay in a town 95% straight?" Kenny argued, letting go of Stan's head and leaning over to stare Kyle in the face, his own completely serious. Ignoring Cartman's protests against having the poor boy leaning on his head, Kenny waited expectantly for Kyle's answer.

Unfortunately Kyle didn't really have one. Kenny had raised a good point, and they both knew it. The boy with the auburn hair turned to look at the senior in question, only to give a start and look away quickly. The Goth, who had returned to his seat prior to the conversation, was watching the whole thing from his place two seats ahead on the left. He didn't seem unraveled by the accusation and didn't try to hide that he was expecting an answer from Kyle.

"Well," he looked over at Stan who was suddenly finding a keen interest in a loose string on his bag, "I suppose that's true," a glance at the Goth, "The only way to know for sure is to ask him." His face set, he stared up at Kenny.

Stan, finally tired of this, took a chance and peeked over at the big-nosed teen. Luckily, the Goth had found the discussion boring and was currently engrossed with his cup of coffee and something the other Goth, Alfie Haynes, said as he flipped his red bangs out of his face.

"Whatever, dudes," Having had enough of the personal debate, Stan pressed on, "I really don't care if he does or not, the guy is still the same. Let's just let this go. It's _**his**_ choice on which he prefers. If you're right, and that _**is**_ what he wants to discuss, let _**me**_ handle it when the time arises."

With his part in, Stan snaked his hand into his bag and took out his reading material for Literature and quickly became engrossed in Lord of the Flies. '_That Jack guy is so hardcore,' _was his last thought as he tuned out Carman's pleas for a change of subject, instead enjoying the Samneric characters.

Kyle couldn't help but smile. Even when Stan was embarrassed to no end, he would defend any of his friends. '_He's scared shitless to see that guy though…'_ Kyle noted indignantly, '_I'll go with Stan at whatever time the note specified.'_ He then dismissed himself from the conversation as well, deciding to become familiar with the sophomore's reading material early.

"Gahd, Stan needs to choose his 'woman' and stick with her," said Cartman, ignored completely, save a smack upside the head, served by Kyle.

"One must stay out of love triangles, Young Grasshopper. For Jews become very jealous, and Goths are likely to take you down with them," a smack was then earned for Kenny.

* * *

Sok~Munki: Sitting here reading this, I can't help but laugh at the fact that the Goth kids are taking the bus. Psh, how non-conformist is that, haha! I imagine Henrietta as being in her first year of college right now (same as Shelley) even though we see her hanging with the other Goths at South Park Elementary... She could be, like, skipping her classes to chill with the others.

Other than that, I would say that Stan is pretty fly for a white guy.


	7. First day is always hell

A/N: Okay, so I made this chapter longer, because, well... My chapters are too short.

Disclaimer: South Park is not mine... Matt&Trey, bless their souls, were kind enough to grace us with their ideas. God with Matt&Trey's lives. The quote is from my brother - who is in his senior year. No, he's not stupid, he was just BEING stupid. Our mom said something and I was like, "What about foreplay?" My brother laughed and said, "For a second there I was thinking, 'Foreplay? What game is that?'" It was genius. Hinkypunks are from Harry Potter - owned my J.K. Rowling (who messed up with the epilogue.) Marie Calendar pot pies - though pretty delicious - are like, CALORIE HELL. Okay so the sweatshirt was all made up in my head EXCEPT for the bear. For those who didn't get it, the bear is Flippy from Happy Tree friends; Happy Tree Friends is owned by Kenn Navarro and Rhode Montijo. Note that for the sweatshirt I did not look to see the ones they sell, I simply imagined that Shelly had ironed on Flippy. Darkwing Duck is owned by Walt Disney Studios. I miss that show. Van Halen rock tee belongs to Van Halen (oh snap who'd've thunkit?!) Bebe's boots are Naughty Monkey. iPods are Apple. 'Dangerous Games' is from Jekyll & Hyde.

* * *

_When the World Comes Down…_

A South Park Tale.

Chapter Seven

_"Foreplay? What game is that?"_

The remainder of the ride was filled with bickering, laughing, one death, angry fists, a spilled cup of coffee, and someone screaming: "Oh dear God, I'm a hinkypunk!" When they arrived at their appropriate schools and the children trudged to solitary accordingly, Stan was patiently letting everyone behind his seat passed, delaying his own departure…

"Dude, think you'll move any time soon? I _**have**_ to watch Carman crumple under the weight of pot pies – Marie Calendar's have _**so**_ many calories in them – and high plates of those buffalo wings from Raisins," Kyle attentively said, as he poked the raven's back, noticing that the loser was wearing his sister's sweatshirt. "You're wearing your sisters shirt, Stan."

That was enough to start the taller teen out of his calculations. He looked at the sleeves of the jacket he had hastily grabbed on the way out the door. Sure enough, they were donned with little stars and skulls; there was an ironed on green bear wearing a uniform, smiling on one sleeve, and looking about ready to kill on the other sleeve. It was clearly a girly shirt – a piece of cloth in the shape of a heart sewn onto the left breast to confirm this.

"Aww, fuckit!" Stan yelped, suddenly glad that there was no one left in the vehicle and that the bus driver didn't speak English – although he was still very good at screaming for them to get out, free with animated hand gestures. "Can anything _**else**_ go wrong today? I mean, seriously! I eat _**burnt**_ eggs, get called a queer-mo a dozen times – not that that's new material – but then I get that embarrassing note that could actually back up Cartman's lame-ass theory! Plus I think I just _**broke**_ your gift, now I just _**ruined**_ the surprise," a gasp of breath and an agitated look out the window, "_**I. Hate. Life**_!"

"Jesus, you really are meant to be a miserable, fun-sucking, Goth. I'll make sure to tell the football team for you."

Stan looked up at his friend – '_Psh, some friend,'_ – and managed to glare half-heartedly. "I really should sock it to you one of these days, you lousy excuse for a _**super**_ best friend!" He then punched Kyle playfully as they slowly advanced towards the door.

He quickly forgot his 'wardrobe malfunction' as they left behind the still shouting Hispanic and advanced towards the giant building that loomed over them. "Okay, so I don't hate life, but can I at least hate school?" He bat his eyes fake innocence at the Jew, who, in turn, pretended to contemplate the request. With a tone that implied that it was going against every one of his beliefs, Kyle accepted the opinion that he himself shared, and then stole Mr. Marsh's hat.

They raced across the grounds, Stan slowly steering his friend into the school, hoping that the sea of people would cause Kyle to stop short. Just herd the teen into a crowded space and then jump him.

This was indeed what happened – with one minor, unforeseen detail: Kyle had lost his grip on the hat, dropping it somewhere during their frenzy.

"Kyle. Buddy. You just made my day worse," Stan said, not exactly mad, but instead it was as if he had admitted to something he had been in denial about for the better half of his life. He stood up from where he had crouched, head between his knees catching up with Kyle's trained respiratory system – '_darn asthma!' – _and asked calmly, "Know when you dropped it, man?"

Before Kyle could give a negative, a girl piped up a few feet away, "Holy eff' I'm wearing Stan Marsh's hat!"

The boys looked to see who had chanced upon the tattered blue and red hat. They both locked in on a girl about as tall as a seventh grader. She was wearing a long, maroon button-up over what appeared to be a Darkwing Duck tee, with brown plaid Capri's that managed to appear almost normal length on her short stature, and of course Stan's hat. Her face looked like she was in shock, a faint blush slightly hidden under her black and yellow glasses. Over all, she wasn't bad looking, per se, just average.

"Dude, there's some midget in your hat," Kyle stated simply, not even trying to hide the insult.

Stan just stared in stunned silence.

The girl continued to look at the red rim that graced her forehead, even as a boy with dirty blonde hair and another girl with raven black hair cascading from under a pink beret came over, the latter saying, "Well, this won't do, _**I**_ never got to wear Stanley's hat," her face held a cheesy hurt-girlfriend look, but she soon broke it off with a laugh, "I don't think that even Kyle was allowed such an honor?" Glancing at the redhead in question, she raised one delicate brow.

"What exactly are you implying?" Kyle's own brow was raised in retaliation.

There was a long silence in which the two teens stared each other down, both analyzing the other. It soon broke though, as both smiled and engaged in a sunny hug, small chuckles present in their eyes.

The tall blonde seemed to be unabashed by this greeting as he held out his hand for the slightly awestruck Stanley to take. As he did so, the teen said with a smile, "Hello, I'm Andy Shane, Wendy's cousin. I've been dumped here by my folks – they got tired of me, I suppose." As these words flowed out with a slight southern drawl, his eyes wandered down to the girl in Stan's hat. She was ten inches shorter than him, making it difficult to see her face.

Finally though, the girl looked up to take a look at the four giants surrounding her. She smiled brightly – without showing teeth – and said, "Hello! I'm Opal Manning! I'm only a freshman, but I _**swear**_ if you cross me I'll throw a _**penny**_ at your _**eye**_!" She smiled, again, avoiding opening her mouth as before.

Needless to say, the four were taken aback. The girl had seemed so quiet and shy! Nonetheless, Stan mustered up his courage and poise to say, "Hey, penny-thrower, before you do that, can I have my hat back…?" He pointed meekly at the item that still sat atop her head. She glanced away for a second, as if she wasn't going to comply, but then reached up and passed it over.

"Gee, I am _**so**_ sorry! I guess I got totally lost in the fact that _**you**_ wear that hat. It's like, a _**really**_ awesome hat I hope you know. I've dreamt of wearing it ever since I saw the first episode!" Ignoring Stan's quizzical look, she added as an after thought, "Nice sweatshirt by the way. It brings out your eyes." Shaking the poor boy's hand, she apologized once more, and with a mumble about Froggy pincushions, walked towards a random classroom.

Left in the wake of the frivolous little eccentric, the four stood there, no longer sure what to do. The globules of soon-to-be brainwashed youth just flowed around them. "Shake It" could be heard blasting from someone's headphones.

"This year is out to get me, dude." Stan said, looking over at Wendy, the only one of his three hall-buddies who wasn't laughing.

~*~:~*~.~*~:~*~

The second bell rang as the last couple of students leaped into their first period. Looking around, the classroom was pretty basic. There were cheesy posters of William Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Mark Twain on the walls; the desk, situated near the back of the room, had a pile of books on it. Nineteen students were scattered along the rows of neatly aligned desks, among them was an excited Stan.

Stan was always quite partial to writing; he loved to just write about funny senseless wit. The time he spent with his Goth friends probably heightened the ability he actually possessed – around those kids, feelings were written and angst was embraced – something that he probably never would have touched if he hadn't met those kids.

Most importantly though, he knew he would like this class. Stan's attitude in his classes was important – his teacher determined his attitude, which in turn determined his grade. The teacher was a tall, straight-backed man who was easily judged to be in his early thirties. The man appeared to be a strict man – short black hair, side burns, slight stubble, and glasses; but under close inspection, one would notice that he wore a Van Halen rock tee, over a gray, long sleeve shirt, with wrinkled black dress pants. His feet were covered with black and white wingtips.

The first words out of his mouth were: "Shouldn't there be more of you?" The man had clearly never been to South Park. "Aren't there any more sophomores at this school who can handle an advanced literature class? I think it's every persons' responsibility to know the language they speak and be able to use it not only correctly, but beautifully as well.

"Hello, my name is Mr. Turner. Let's start by finding our seating arrangements," He began walking around the class, handing out torn off pieces of scratch paper, "On this slip of paper I would like you to write your name, your favorite color, your favorite genre of music, and your favorite genre of movie."

Stan looked up and stared at the man for a while, '_Who the heck goes this far for original seating?'_ He pondered for about three seconds before deciding that his day was hectic enough without frying his brain first period just because his teacher was a whack-job. He quickly scribbled down 'blue', 'rock', 'comedy/thriller', then lightly tossed it to the edge of his desk.

Minutes later, when the papers were collected, Stan found himself sitting next to Kenny and a girl with short, shaggy, black, red, and brown hair; she wore a blue zebra-print, low cut tank-top over a yellow rock tee, and tight, red plaid pants. Her feet were adorned with green sandal slip-ons. The paper at the head of her desk read, "Laverne Kress".

Done observing the strange girl on his right, Stan turned to face Mr. McCormick, "Hey, dude! I didn't know you were in Advanced Lit!" Stan was delighted to see that one of his best friends was in a class with him. It was indeed a pleasant surprise but still a surprise nonetheless. "How did you get in, dude? No offense, but you never seemed to put any effort into writing last year…"

Kenny gave a smirk, leaned across his desk to the teen next to him, and whispered, "If you absolutely _**must**_ know… I cheated on the tests last year. They think I'm a total _**genius**_. Not that I'm _**not**_, I just don't like writing about all these corporate shit-head lies," Noticing Stan's skeptic look, Ken concluded, "That's my story and I'm sticking with it."

Stan wondered how much of what Kenny said was true. He had once heard Kenny murmuring a couple words when they were eating breakfast at The Village Inn before trying their hands at skateboarding, but the waitress came by before he was able to ask Ken what it was he was reciting. The Goth kids had given a nod of approval though.

The Laverne girl leaned forward to look across Stan and at Kenny. From her blue lips she said, "Stop trying to be impressing, _**jerk-wad**_. You're probably just _**scared**_ you'll lose some kind of '_**awesome**_' title just because you're not academically _**challenged**_; if you really are crappy at writing you shouldn't insult those who actually wish to be great by being in this class. Now, please _**sod**_ off, get a life, and let me _**sleep**_." The grumpy girl sniped with her heavy British accent as she laid her head against the desk to as she promised.

With a glance at Stan, Kenny started to chuckle, and as the teacher began writing the titles of 'great stories' on the chalkboard, he said, "This is going to be a fun year, dude!"

~*~:~*~.~*~:~*~

Fifty-five minutes later, across the hall, three doors down, Kyle sat, bored, in Trigonometry. Yes, it was wonderful that he had made it into the Junior's math class, but he was alone in a sea of older students. He soon found himself waiting for the teacher to arrive to distract him.

From his view in the back of the room, he could see Christophe "Zé Mole" Cheever and Gregory Ackerman looking over some sort of old blue-print of what appeared to be the school. Alfie, the other Goth kid from before, was sending daggers towards Mike Makowski. Although the four were interesting enough in their own ways, he really didn't like to associate with any of them.

As Kyle sat there, contemplating switching down to the Geometry class with the rest of the sophomores – a futile thought, what with his expectant mother – he wondered how Stan's Literature class had gone and if he was missing anything interesting by taking his AP Lit. Honors course, '_Why the hell do I have to be so smart? Why the hell isn't Butters in this class? Why the hell is there gum on my shoe?'_

Just when the idea of jumping out the second-story window to try and escape entered his mind, Bebe Stevens walked into the classroom.

"Hey, listen up everyone!" Bebe's voice was rich as ever, but it had grown to have a mature, diplomatic ring to it.

With a glance over at Christophe and Gregory, the blonde knockout's eyebrow twitched - the two were clearly not paying attention to her. That would change if she had anything to say about it… Or throw at it. She turned around, grabbed at the eraser resting in front of the board, and, with deadly fist poised, hurled the eraser at their desk.

The eraser smacked into their blue prints, releasing a bomb of grey dust particles into the two males' unsuspecting faces, thus causing The Mole to leap backwards, falling out of his chair, and onto the floor. Gregory haughtily commanded, "Take _**evasive**_ _**action**_, good man!"

Bebe, quite taken aback that the two teenagers were behaving so much like the adults of South Park, simply stood quiet until Mike nasally slurred, "Why so surprised? _**You**_ did it, per se." To which she regained her composure by straightening her blazer and shifting to balance out the weight distribution on her coral Steves Delight 2 D-Ring boots.

Bebe leaned her bottom against the desk and said, "Now that I have your attention, I would like to announce that Mrs. Crawford, your Trig teacher, fell off a stool when she had a penis running around in her kitchen and broke her hip," Alfie scoffed, "So, I will be filling in for her today and possibly the rest of the week."

The Mole, now composed and sitting forward in his seat, growled, "Why ze fuck would zey ask you? All zese Americans are stupeed beetches." He picked up the eraser and threw it over his shoulder, where it bounced up and hit a girl in the face.

Bebe, unfazed, simply folded her arms and elaborated the given condition of their teachings, "I was late to class this morning for private reasons; a man was walking by, blubbering about not having time to find a sub for the class. That was when he noticed me and asked if I had any experience teaching – he thought I was twenty. I told him that I tutor students, and then he shoved me towards the class with a sheet of guidelines."

Kyle, now losing interest, took out his iPod, turned it to his play list labeled 'Broadway Musix', and started to drown himself in 'Dangerous Game'. Just before he fell asleep he thought, '_This is going to be one long ass day…'_

~*~:~*~.~*~:~*~

After two more insignificant periods of grueling torture – in which Cartman mouthed off Clyde for offering him a cupcake and Butters for taking it instead – lunch had finally arrived. As everyone filed into the cafeteria, our favorite quartet found they were back together.

"Stan!"

"Kyle!"

As the two ran towards each other in slow motion, Butters walked between them. "Hey fellas! Guess what! I have a girlfriend! She isn't even from Raisins!" He danced happily, "She just walked over and asked me out! She says that we need to go out on a date to make sure it's cool, but I think I'm in the clear, right?"

The four stood staring at the bubbling blond, "Butters has a girl…?" Cartman twitched uncontrollably; he bent his knees as he continued, "Oh dear Lord, it's the end of the world!" He grabbed onto Kenny's shoulder to stay himself from falling, "Kenny, Kenny help me… The world – it's gone dark."

Kenny just laughed as he held up his fist, "Pound it, Leopold, my man!" He looked at Cartman – which proved to a hard task to do, as Cartman was slumped, and he's six inches shorter than the impecunious boy originally. Rolling his eyes, Ken continued, "Cartman's just jealous because Bebe broke it with him during the summer. Apparently this whole bet thing was starting to tick her. Said that he was so spastic that he was a disgrace to all girl-kind. Harsh." Needless to say, his voice was nowhere near as serious as his words implied.

While this happened, Stan peeked around Butters' giddy figure and let his face droop – Kyle had completely forgotten their slow motion, corny, beach scene hug. Instead, the redhead was picking fuzz off of his Master of Puppets tee. Stan huffed and bypassed the blond to speak directly to the alabaster toned teen, "Kye, we should go get some of that kosher food while we can." He patted the Jewish boy on his shoulder, and the two walked into the cafeteria.

As the two friends stepped out, another stepped forward. Wendy walked up to the three psychotic looking teens, a look of assessment on her face. "What exactly are you doing?"

The boys in question only faltered a little in their bizarre displays of emotion – Butters continued to do his little jive of shaking hips and bobbing head, Cartman still held to Kenny's arm with a deadly grip, trying to get a hold on the situation, and Kenny simply stood laughing.

"Cartman's surprised that I got a girlfriend! It's not official, but, gosh, Wendy! I'm so excited! I go on a date with her tomorrow night! My dad won't ground me for going out on a school night neither; he'll just be glad that I'm not gay after all!" Not once did Butters' smile drop in intensity. He just looked down at Cartman – who even he had surpassed in height – patting his back and continuing, "He's just so happy for me!"

"No I'm not, you queefer! Where's _**my**_ bitch?! I need a ho too, you know!!" Cartman cried, waving his arms everywhere to emphasize his doubt and loneliness.

Wendy punched his arm, "What the _**heck**_, Eric?" She punched him again, "You should be _**happy**_ for Butters! You're just angry because he isn't _**gay**_ for you!" She's silent for a minute, "And don't be offensive to women."

"What, you crack _**bitch**_? Are you implying that _**I'm gay**_? That's fuckin'_** bull**_ crap! I didn't even do anything to insult your friggin' race, _**Wendy**_!" He shoved his 'not so pudgy anymore' finger in her face. Only two inches taller than her, they stood practically at eye level, "Dumb, whore!"

"Shut up, Eric, you _**selfish**_ asshole! Women aren't a separate race, you idiot!" She grabbed his hand and pushed it away, "Fat lard!"

"For your information I've _**thinned out**_!" He smacked his stomach, "See that, Wendy? That's my gorgeous body that _**you**_ _**want**_!"

"Like I would _**ever**_ want _**you**_, you disgusting jerk!"

Butters looked over at Kenny, "Should we stop them?" He pulled at his finger nervously, and then cracked his knuckles absentmindedly with his thumb – one finger at a time.

Kenny scratched his neck, "Honestly? We probably should, before they start strangling each other… Like, tighter than they are right now, I mean." He picked a bit of ear wax out of his ear, "Another honestly? I am too lazy – much more interested in hearing about your date. She hot?"

Butters gave the two feral beasts one last glance, "Well, she's really easy to spot, just look around for a giant head of—there she is! Chelsea!" He pointed over at a girl walking down the hall.

Kenny raised his eyebrows, "Wow Butters… Wow!"

The girl, now stopped at her locker, wore a tore up, white shirt with the British flag covering the front. Covering her bodacious hips was a black-laced skirt with yellow material ribboning it; the edges of the skirt were cut in a jagged, triangle pattern. Heavy steel-toed boots, reaching up to her knees, weighed down her feet.

However, Kenny's eyes were trained on her head – more accurately, her hair. Cresting her skull was a three-toned cut: framing her face were strands of a color treated blond, black locks were visible just behind her ears, but the most noticeable was the jelled up section in the rear and the long flow reaching to small of her back.

"She… Looks like a pink haired Yu-Gi-Oh reject…" Kenny absentmindedly said his voice wrapped up in a big bow of disconcertion.

The shorter of the blonds tilted his head to the side, "I hadn't thought of it like that… I think it's neat though!" He turned to Kenny, "I just think it's going to be the slowest day of my life! I mean, I have to wait for today to be done, and then I have to fidget through school tomorrow!"

Cartman and Wendy were now pulling each other's hair, both screaming for the other to stop. They fell to the ground, still not letting go.

Looking down at them pathetically, Craig – who was passing by with Thomas and Tweek – said, "Honestly, you guys are on the ground, but Wendy is pulling on the **_wrong end_**!"

Craig was then beaten severely.

* * *

Sok~Munki: Okay, dear lord... It took me forever to do this... AIISA,D killed me a million times to get me to do this. I know it kind of ends, but that's just because that was the last notable part of the day. Next chapter will be the next day. I'll probably be so ticked at the cut off that I'll sneak in and change it later.

Yes, I know Brat Prince, I mentioned shoes again, but in my defense it's Bebe.

I swear to God I'll be more diligent about this! I was just distracted by band stuff. Kind of.

Okay, so... In the next chapter, the plot will actually be put forth! HO SNAP, yeah!

Oh, yeah... I know I dropped the OC bomb on you guys, but like, Opal is actually me. Andy and I won't appear much - fillers we are. Laverne is to be hitched with someone perhaps? Her and Chelsea are like a duo. As for Chelsea? Chelsea will have to fight for Butters with a cannon character. I just love the idea of two appealing girls fighting over Butters. =]


End file.
